


Fool Me Once

by weestarmeggie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Aristocracy, Betrayal, Dark Hermione Granger, Emperor and Empress of France, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, French Revolution au, Hell Hath No Fury Like A Woman Scorned, Infidelity, Palaces, Parties, Revenge, Secret Relationship, Smut, Tea, The guillotine is too good for you, and a crown, beheadings, but they are a bitch to get off, corsets are pretty, lord's and ladies, so much blood, there will be cake, think marie antoinette
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-10 12:53:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15291948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weestarmeggie/pseuds/weestarmeggie
Summary: “I don’t want revenge,” she said.Draco scoffed. “Of course you d-”“I want his fucking head on a platter.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [AgeOfPotter](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/AgeOfPotter) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
> He’d abandoned her, set her aside like she hadn’t just helped him overthrow the Monarchy, for a twit of a girl no less and she was angry. She was going to remind him exactly why he shouldn’t have underestimated her. French Revolution Royalty AU.

When Hermione was seven, her aunt - in the loosest sense of the word, for she was neither a blood nor a relation by marriage, just an old family friend - Minerva sat her down and told her that the only person she could ever rely on would be herself.

 

“Everyone has a motive my dear,” she said around sips of tea - one of the few British staples she’d refused to leave behind when she’d moved to France with her husband. It wasn’t the first time the woman had imparted her wisdom, but it was perhaps the first time Hermione really listened - paid attention and remembered.

 

So when her parents shipped her off to the Potter’s later that summer, she remembered what her aunt had said and learned.

 

Learned that James and Lily Potter’s marriage was not as rosy as it seemed. That full conversations could be held in glances. That promises made by parents who vowed to return at the end of summer and bring her home to England meant nothing when they didn’t, couldn’t, because they were dead.

 

The Potters took her in. Treated her like she was their own. Harry was certainly possessive of her, arguing and threatening anyone, especially the Weasley boy that served on the vast Potter estate, who had a knack for bothering her more than anyone else.

 

“I can look after myself you know,” a twelve year old Hermione told him one afternoon as she helped him bathe his bloodied fist in a bucket of ice. He snorted.

 

“But why should you?”

 

It bothered her at first, his possessiveness. He was always there, always watching her - it was only when she was older that she realised how much power she had over him.

 

That she had a lot of power over all of them.

* * *

 

She was seventeen when Tom Riddle and his family moved into the estate beside the Potter’s.

 

“I’m Harry,” her best friend, her intended for all intensive purposes, said, curling his arm around her waist and pulling her tighter into him, “and this is Lady Granger.”

 

“Hermione,” she corrected, shrugging out of his embrace and stepping forward to greet their new neighbour. She didn’t miss the flicker of _something_ in his eyes when he met her gaze and took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips and pressing a chaste kiss against her knuckles.

 

“Pleasure.”

* * *

 

They didn’t talk about anything when she slipped away from the Potter’s and met him in the abandoned guest house on his estate.They simply tumbled together in a haze of lust and tangled limbs and harsh breathes and _oh god Tom, yes, please harder_.

 

Hermione was under no illusion about what he wanted from her, it was the same thing she wanted from him.

 

The war between Dumbledore’s rebel forces and Grindelwald’s loyalists continued to rage around them. It was only a matter of time before it all came to a head and with both Harry and Tom’s fathers front and centre of the conflict, it was also just a matter of time before they were dragged into it too.

* * *

 

“When we win this,” Hermione mumbled, running her hand through his hair, even as Harry breathed into the space between her neck and shoulder, his tongue sliding along her neck, tasting the sweat that had gathered there in the moments before, “I want to get married.”

 

“Presumptuous,” he nipped against her collarbone and she whined.

 

She rolled them over, sliding his still hard length back inside of her and sitting atop his lap. His hands slid up her thighs to caress the curve of her breasts, his thumbs flicking her nipples and she ground against him. “I’m serious,” she moaned, moving above him, her clit rubbing deliciously against his pubic bone, “I want to be Empress. I want that fucking crown atop my head and I want everyone to bow down before me,” she said, her eyes closed and her head thrown back, words she’d never dreamed to speak aloud before slipping past her lips without permission.

 

Harry only hummed beneath her.

* * *

 

 

“You need to leave now,” she murmured, when they stepped back into their tent amongst the camp. Dumbledore had been found dead not an hour ago, the result of a long hatched plan between herself, Harry and Tom, and they’d just returned, along with half a dozen other commanders in the army, from overseeing the pronouncement. “We need to gather the army as quickly and quietly as possible and head straight for Paris. Gellert will not be expecting us. It will be easy. All of the others will support you Harry,” she insisted. “They supported your parents before they died and they will support you now too.”

 

“Tom-” he started to object

 

“No.”

 

Harry’s eyes widened in shock at the insistence in her tone. “Herm-”

 

“Tom wants to be Emperor Harry,” she hissed, stepping in front of him. She jerked her head in the tent opening’s direction, “you know he will be thinking the same.”

 

“He wouldn’t betray me,” he protested weakly.

 

She rolled her eyes but relaxed her stance and stepped forward so that they were face to face, his breath ghosting across her forehead as she looked up at him and he down at her. “Maybe not. But at least this way he won’t ever get the chance.”

* * *

 

 

She fell into one of the palace’s many bedrooms alone. Bloody and bruised but giddy and delighted at the outcome of the battle. Harry was still overseeing the logistics of where their army would stay and the state of the capital in general after the battle they’d just fought.

 

She’d felt a momentary pang of regret at the look of hurt she had seen flicker in Tom’s eyes when he’d finally arrived at Tuileries, until to discover that he wasn’t needed. That he was too late. But her aunt’s warning was always at the back of Hermione’s mind and when Tom left, his men following behind diligently, she closed her eyes and thought of the crown she would soon have on her head, all thoughts of Tom Riddle and the time they’d spent together disappearing.

* * *

 

 

Except.

 

Harry was gone the next morning. And the next. A week passed. A month.

 

No word except what she heard from Neville, who only told her everytime a letter arrived that he was making concessions across the continent. Rewarding those that had stood up against Gellert’s regime and punishing those who had supported him.

 

She entertained in his absence - holding _their_ court up by herself. Making sure everyone was happy - that nobody needed anything - that nobody went without. Nobody protested against her doing so, pledging their allegiance to her and Harry like they were simply agreeing to tea.

 

Until finally, they received word that he was on his way back to them. To her. Everyone was excited, eager to see their _saviour_. To have their salvation, their Emperor, returned safely to them.

 

Nobody was expecting a _different_ Empress to step out of the carriage beside him though.

* * *

 

 

They couldn’t meet her eye.

 

She hadn’t seen them in months, having escaped to her aunt’s palace in Versailles as soon as it had been possible and yet not a single one of them could look her in the eye, even as they fell over themselves to fawn over her with their ‘Lady Hermione's’, their air kisses, their pitying glances and their complete and utter stupidity.

 

“You’ll find a nice husband dear,” Lady Black, a woman who Hermione had endured plenty of summers with as a ward of the Potter’s said, patting her hand and smiling down at her condescendingly. Hermione knew she was thanking her lucky stars that both Lords Regulus and Sirius were already betrothed, for who would want the cast off of the Emperor himself, even if they’d never been publicly declared as a couple.

 

Lady Longbottom was more subtle, but she still squeezed Hermione’s hand gently and told her not to give up hope. That there would be plenty of time to settle down and have children of her own. Hermione smiled wanly at the woman and nodded, holding her tongue in the process. It would have done no good for anyone to witness her lashing out.

 

Lady Nott, nee Greengrass, was contrite in her greeting and Hermione allowed the other woman to pull her into a gentle embrace. “I am sorry you know,” she mumbled into Hermione's ear, squeezing Hermione’s hand firmly within her own, “I warned her not to do this.” Hermione tensed at the mention of Daphne’s sister but then Lord Nott appeared and whisked his wife away and Hermione was left to stand, alone, again.

 

“Lady Granger,” Lord Draco Malfoy smirked, gracing her gloved hands with a chaste kiss against the silk. Hermione rolled her eyes and pursed her lips at his antics. He was the only one, _the only one,_ who deigned to look her in the eye and she could see the pain and anger reflected in his eyes as if it were her own, even if his face wore an impassive mask. “Have you met my mother?” He asked, stepping aside to reveal Lady Malfoy.

 

“No,” Hermione murmured, swallowing nervously, “I’ve not had the pleasure.”

 

Lady Narcissa Malfoy waved off the slight curtsy Hermione had been about to dip into and took Hermione into her arms. “There’s no need to be so formal dear. Especially not now.”

 

Hermione chanced a look in Draco’s direction, but he was carefully avoiding her gaze and engaging some other Lord in small talk.

 

“‘Not now?’ Lady Malfoy. Whatever do you mean?” She asked, quirking her head to the side as she pondered the older woman’s words.

 

Hermione watched Narcissa’s posture tense and straighten.  The woman levelled her with a look so intense that Hermione felt goosebumps erupt along her arms and for how much she knew Draco was often told how much he resembled his late father, she’d never thought he looked more like his mother than in that moment. “Karma, my dear, is a wretched thing,” she said quietly against her ear, “they will both get what is coming to them. I know they will.”

 

Hermione tensed her jaw and nodded. “I hope so,” she murmured.

 

Narcissa pulled back, squeezed her forearms and nodded. “I know so.”

 

“Lords and Ladies may I present to you, your new leaders. The Emperor and Empress of France.”

 

Hermione stiffened in Narcissa’s grip but it was Draco who turned and stomped away from the sight of their new rulers entering the room. She didn’t blame him.

 

The Empress, Draco’s former fiancée, Astoria Greengrass, had her arm hooked through the Emperor’s and was smiling so widely, Hermione thought it must have hurt. She looked beautiful, Hermione admitted, with her pale pink corseted ball gown - that emphasised her narrow waist and accentuated what little cleavage the conniving chit had - and her matching lace gloves. Her blonde hair was crowned on the top of her head, numerous jewels scattered through it and she wore a dusty pink lipstick and blush. She fluttered her eyelashes and smiled demurely when the guests curtsied and Hermione’s free hand clenched into a fist. She was sure, if not for the gloves she wore, that her nails would have broken the skin of her palm.

 

She heard Narcissa mutter a quiet “that boy” before she too abandoned her glaring and followed after him. Hermione didn’t move. She watched the pair of them make their way around the opulent ballroom, her chin raised defiantly against all the whispers and pitying looks that were being shot her way once again.

 

She didn’t falter when the couple approached her and bent her knee in supplication.

 

“Her Imperial Majesty, Empress of France.” She said through clenched teeth before turning to face the Emperor, never raising from her curtsey. “His Imperial Majesty, Emperor of France.”

 

He laughed and Hermione tasted blood on her tongue.

 

“Oh ‘Mione,” he chuckled affectionately and a shudder of disgust trilled through her at the way the nickname he’d used since they were children, that she’d always abhorred but put up with from him, rolled off his tongue. “There’s no need to be so formal with me,” he said, stepping away from Astoria and pulling Hermione up and into his embrace. She remained stiff in his arms and bit her tongue when his hand rested against the small of her back. “I’ve always been Harry to you.”

 

She stepped back from him and concealed her grimace with a simpering smile. “Of course Harry. Congratulations,” she said, giving them both the smallest of nods and hoping that that would be enough for them to leave her be. She didn’t want to be there after all, but she’d be damned if she’d give any of them, especially Astoria Greengrass, the opportunity to ridicule her for her absence.

 

She was still a highborn Lady after all. There would be no escape from attending these lavish balls, especially while she was unwed. After all, how was she supposed to meet her future husband if she stayed at home alone every evening?

 

Astoria made to move along, but Harry had other ideas. He took Hermione’s hand in his, caressing her palm with his thumb. “How have you been? I haven’t seen you in months,” he murmured lowly. Hermione blinked at him and flicked her eyes to Astoria. The Empress was glaring at her accusatory,  like it was her fault her husband was behaving so uncouthly. “I’ve missed you.”

 

Hermione cleared her throat, averted her eyes and folded her hands prettily along the skirt of her own ball gown. A cherry red masterpiece that her aunt had sent with her from Versailles. With her own loose mahogany curls hanging down her back and the earrings, that Harry’s own mother had given her when she was just a child, adorning her ears, every head had turned her way at least once. “That’s nice,” she muttered, but Harry ignored her.

 

“You’re going to have to make more appearances at court now you know,” he teased, “can’t have you hiding away in that lofty estate home your parents left you with your books and Crookshanks.” Hermione bristled. “We need to find you a nice young Lord of your own now. Someone who’ll challenge you, keep you on your to-”

 

“Oh I think I keep her on her toes alright Potter,” a voice interrupted. Hermione’s head snapped up and her lips pursed in disapproval when she saw just who had come to her rescue. “Don’t I love?” He asked, arching an eyebrow, his dark eyes gleaming wickely down at her.

 

“His Imperial Majesty, Emperor of France.” Astoria cut in.

 

Tom’s eyes widened at Astoria’s words, but Hermione was sure no-one but her saw it before he dipped his head curtly. “Of course. My apologies. His Imperial Majesty, Emperor of France.”

 

“Lord Riddle,” Harry grit out and Hermione’s eyes flicked back to see Harry clenching his teeth. “I didn’t realise you and Lady Granger were so _close_.” The way he said that word made Hermione shudder. They hadn’t been this close in months. She hadn’t even known he’d be there tonight.

 

Hermione blushed, but Tom pressed one hand against the small of her back, settled the other on her hip and brought her closer, so that she was stood in front of him. “I think acquainted would be an understatement given how,” he paused, his gaze leaving Hermione’s to meet Harry’s, “ _intimately,_ we know each other,” he leered.

 

Hermione moved her foot to press the heel of her shoe into his. “Lord Riddle!”

 

“Yes ‘Mione,” he said, never taking his eyes off Harry. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again she could see how close Harry had stepped into their personal space and shuffled back.

 

“I’m suddenly feeling rather faint. Walk with me?” She asked, though her tone brokered no argument. Tom dragged his eyes from Harry to her again. He smirked and nodded, bringing one of her hands into his and lifting it to press a kiss against the palm of her hand.

 

“Of course,” he replied, and bowed his head in their new rulers direction. “Excuse us,” he murmured, though he didn’t wait for either of them to give him leave before he was whisking Hermione across the ballroom towards the patio doors that led to the balcony. Hermione could feel the eyes of almost everyone in the room burning into her back along with a chorus of muffled whispers.

 

When Tom opened the doors she stepped quickly through them and out of his embrace. She braced herself against the balcony railings and exhaled quickly.

 

“Why did you do that?”

 

“Do what?”

 

“Lord Riddle.”  


“Lady Granger.”

 

They stared at each other for what felt like minutes but what must only have been seconds before Tom stepped towards her. She felt her fingers dig into the stone beneath her.

 

“Would you prefer I hadn’t interrupted?” He asked, his head cocked to the side as he raked his eyes over her. Hermione shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, even though she could feel her arousal pooling in her knickers. Her nipples pebbling against the velvet of her dress, and not just because of the cool Parisian night. “Let him embarrass himself, embarrass you in front of everyone? In front of his wife?”

 

“What do you care?” She snarled, pacing towards him.

 

“Oh I don't care at all,” he snapped. “All the better for me if the Emperor chooses to get his dick wet in someone other than his wife.”

 

She slapped him and his head reeled back with the ferocity of it. “How dare you?” She hissed, shoving him away then advancing on him again. “You have no idea, no idea what I have been thro-”  


“Been through?” He scoffed, taking a hold of the wrist that was currently jabbing its finger into his chest. “Oh please. You’re upset that he didn’t choose you. Cast you aside for some foreign little chit instead. One who will spread her legs far and wide for his heirs and ignore all the other woman he spends his nights with,” he sneered. “You and Malfoy are the same. Angry and upset because the person they are in love with isn’t in love with them.”

 

Hermione froze at his words. _Loved. He thought - he though…._ She laughed.

 

He didn’t stop speaking. “You know nothing about betrayal. He stole this from me,” he hissed, ignoring the way she was laughing hysterically into the night, her head thrown back and her chest heaving with the exertion. He stepped forward and gripped her by the arms, turning her until she was the one pressed against the wall. “I was meant to be Emperor. ME!”

 

“SO WAS I,” she snarled, finally snapping from her laughter and shoving him back. He was too close to her and she couldn't breath with the scent of his cologne washing over her and his breath hot against her face as he stared down at her, memories of all the other times they’d been so close together flashing across her mind.

 

“I was supposed to be Empress. Me! Not some simpering little girl like Astoria Greengrass. I was the one that made him into the man he is. I’m the one who stayed up all night talking about war plans and defensive strategies.” Tom flinched at her words, his grip loosening on her arms as the truth was revealed.

 

“I don’t love him,” she sneered, “I needed him. That title was mine and I did everything, _everything,”_ she said firmly, her eyes narrowing as more memories flitted across her mind, “to get it. You think Harry was smart enough to come up with the idea to betray Dumbledore? To betray **you** on his own?” She mocked and when Tom’s eyes flicked to her’s she knew he knew what she meant. “Oh yes,” she smirked, running the tip of her tongue over her teeth as the realisation struck him. “I’m the one that told him to betray you. To abandon you in the woods. Alone. Left behind whilst we marched on Paris ourselves.  It was me. It’s always been me.”

 

She was panting heavily by the time she finished. His eyes were impossibly black, with lust or anger, Hermione didn’t know. But his left hand was holding her arms above her head and his right was digging into her hip possessively and his eyes kept flicking to the significant amount of cleavage that her dress revealed.

 

“You bitch,” he growled, before he pressed her against the wall and himself into her. Their mouths met in a furious clash of teeth and tongues. Biting, tugging, nipping as they fought against one another for dominance. Tom’s hand abandoned her wrist to grab under her bum and hitch her against the wall. Her legs wound around his waist and her hands scratched at his neck, even as he rolled his hips against hers. “This fucking dress,” he groaned into her neck, latching onto her skin with his teeth and using his hips and the wall behind her to keep her up while he fumbled with the material. He ran his hands up her legs, and nipped at her neck when he reached the strip of lace that marked the end of her stockings. “Stockings, Granger,” he murmured against her skin. “You’re trying to kill me.”

 

“Hurry up,” she whined rolling her hips and jolting him back into action. He continued moving his hands until they cupped her bum, then slipped one of them between her legs and pressed against the wet scrap of material separating him from her.

 

“You’re so wet. Is this for me?”

 

She yanked his head back roughly from her neck and glared down at him, rolling her hips against the palm of his hand all the while. “Well it’s not for anyone else, is it?”

 

Tom clenched his jaw and removed his hand from between her legs. Hermione let go of his neck and gathered the material of her dress in one hand, holding it for him as he quickly unlaced his trousers and pulled his erection free.

 

“God!” He groaned, when he looked back up from his cock to see her free hand had slipped under the lace and she was sliding her fingers against her folds. “Do you have any idea how fucking perfect you look?” He asked, lunging forward. One hand wrapped around her throat whilst the other worked his cock, smearing the pre-come that had leaked from the tip, over the length. He tilted her head so that she could look at him while he nudged against her fingers. She took the hint and held the scrap of lace aside so that he could slide into her dripping cunt with his cock.

 

He pressed the tip of it against her clit. “You’re always so eager for it sweetheart,” he hissed, jerking forward and sliding into her when the door beside them opened and Malfoy stepped out onto the patio

 

“Riddl- Oh for fuck’s sake!” He hissed quietly, quickly shutting the door behind him and stepping away from it _and them_ “You two are ridiculous. We’re at their fucking coronation for God’s sake. Don’t you have any sense of propriety?”

 

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Tom mumbled quietly into Hermione’s neck, stepping back and slipping from inside her. Hermione whimpered but let her legs fall from his waist, her dress shifting to hide her modesty. Tom gripped her waist and took a deep breath before he flicked his eyes in Draco’s direction. “What is it?”

 

Draco glared at the pair of them. “You know better.”

 

“Drac-”

 

“My mother is looking for you Granger,” he interrupted, finally turning to face the pair of them. “Potter too.”

 

“Surely you mean ‘His Imperial Majesty, Emperor of France’,” Tom mocked. Hermione ignored him, stepping around his stiff form to face Draco.

 

“Why is your mother looking for me?”

 

Draco shrugged. “She mentioned something about tea. And revenge,” he added quietly, meeting her narrowed eyes with a hard look of his own.

 

“I don’t want revenge,” she said.

 

Draco scoffed. “Of course you d-”

 

“I want his fucking head on a platter.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi -so this was my entry to the fb groups beyond the books fanfiction nook Age of Potter fest. It won besk dark, best female and best erotic. Thank you to everyone who voted and just supported this story. Massive love to Riverwriter as always for putting up with me - i love you so much. Ok bye.

Hermione stirred her tea, never taking her eyes off Narcissa who sat on the chair opposite her.

No words other than pleasantries had been exchanged between the two woman since Hermione had been escorted into the drawing room by a spritely attendant who had quickly and quite loudly informed her that his name was Dobson, “Dobby for short miss,” he’d said.

She’d never visited the Malfoys French estate before, but it was just as grand as she remembered their home in Wiltshire being. Though she hadn’t visited that property since she was younger, and her parents had taken her back to their home country for the summer..

When Narcissa began drinking her own tea, Hermione carefully set her cup down on the provided saucer and leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees.

“I’m sorry Lady Mal - Narcissa,” she corrected after the woman in question shot her a glare, “I’m confused as to why I’m here.”

Narcissa hummed but took another sip before she sat her own cup down. “I told you last night that karma was a terrible thing Hermione.”

“I don’t see how-”

“You want revenge, no?”

Hermione grit her teeth and took a drink of her own tea. Revenge was such a  _ polite _ way of putting it. She was worried it wouldn’t be enough - that even if she strung Harry up and gutted him- quite unladylike behaviour- that she would still have this feeling in her bones. That she would never be able to trust another person in her life, not where it mattered. Because whilst she’d never believed herself in love with Harry, he had been her best friend and he had betrayed her - left her.

And Narcissa, no matter how much Hermione admired the older woman had motives of her own. She would happily use Hermione for her own gains.

“What do you propose Narcissa?” She asked instead of answering her.

“That you and Draco begin to court.” Hermione choked on her tea - Narcissa didn’t seem to notice. “The public adore you, Hermione, and the aristocracy,” she smirked. Hermione finally understood where Draco got the damn quirk from, “they are wary of Harry now.”

“Lady Malfoy,” Hermione hissed, quickly setting her tea down ignoring the way the liquid sloshed over the rim of the cup onto the saucer, and casting her eyes about the room for eavesdroppers. “You shouldn’t be so bold.”

Narcissa laughed. “Oh my sweet girl,” she chuckled, there is not one person in this house who is not loyal to me and my  _ many _ secrets.”

“Still,” Hermione hesitated, wondering just what those many secrets could be, “you should be wary of insulting the Emp-”

“I would not have to insult him if he had not done this,” she bit out harshly and Hermione’s eyes snapped up to meet hers. “He insulted my family. He and that  _ Astoria _ ,” she sneered and Hermione remembered who she was talking to, “have embarrassed us. Embarrassed Draco.”

“I seem to be functioning perfectly fine Mother,” Draco interrupted, sweeping into the room. Hermione glanced up from her tea and was surprised to see Tom with him.

“Lord Riddle,” Narcissa greeted, standing from her seat and throwing a glare at her son, “how nice of you to join us.”

“I hope we’re not interrupting,” Tom replied, flashing Lady Malfoy a grin. Hermione rolled her eyes. “And Lady Granger. How lovely to see you again,” he said, standing from where he had bent to bow to Narcissa. Hermione quickly sat back down and averted her eyes.

“A pleasure I’m sure.” She replied and shot Draco a glare when she heard him mumble something unintelligible under his breath.

“Well, do join us,” Narcissa said, waving her hands in the direction of the free seats around them. Draco immediately settled into an armchair whilst Tom took the empty spot on the chaise beside her. Hermione stiffened slightly and turned her head back towards Narcissa, her eyes wide when the woman simply continued their conversation.

“Anyway, yes, I think the two of you should court. The public will support you and both Harry and Astoria will be left reeling.

“I’m sorry mother,” Draco began carefully, his eyes narrowed with suspicion as he set his own cup and saucer down gently on the low coffee table between them all. “Who is it that should begin to court?”

Narcissa turned from Hermione to look at Draco. “Why you and Lady Granger of course.”

If Hermione hadn’t been looking at Draco she wouldn’t have seen the quick startled glance he threw in Tom’s direction. And if Tom hadn’t been sitting beside Hermione, but between her and Draco, she’d have missed the way his fingernails began to dig into the soft material of the seat they shared, and the way his lips began to curl into a snarl. Draco answered before the loud growl Hermione was sure was bubbling in Tom’s chest could erupt.

“No.”

“Draco-”

“I said no Mother. No offence Lady Granger,” he dipped his head in her direction before turning back to face his mother,” but Lady Granger and I are incompatible. It would be a disaster from start to finish. One of us,” his eyes flicked in Tom’s direction and he swallowed, “would no doubt be dead by the end of it.”

“Don’t be ridi-”

“No offence Lady Malfoy,” Hermione said. “But I want to sit on that throne. I have no interest in becoming someone’s  _ trophy.” _

Narcissa chuckled and reached her hands across the table to grasp Hermione’s. She let her. “My dear girl,” she began, rubbing soothing circles against the inside of Hermione's wrist. “It wouldn’t be so-”

“I have no interest in becoming Emperor Mother,” Draco said in a clipped tone, startling Narcissa into dropping Hermione’s hands. Narcissa turned sharply towards her son.

“Draco.”

“No. Lord Riddle here,” he jerked his head in Tom’s direction, “Is the one who wants that. I have no interest in running anything grander than the Malfoy estate. I simply want Astoria to,” his lips curled up into a sneer that reminded Hermione of his late father, “be punished.”

Narcissa pursed her lips and glanced between the three of them. “It would be suspicious if Lord Riddle and Lady Grang-”

“Oh I quite agree,” Tom interjected and Hermione glanced sharply at him. Her eyes narrowing at the smirk twitching at his lips. “Which is why I  _ do  _ think they should court.”

Hermione’s eyebrows must have been a sight because Tom began to chuckle. “Don’t look so surprised Lady Granger. It is a good idea.”

“I don’t see how,” Draco muttered petulantly from his seat, folding his arms across his chest. Hermione directed her raised eyebrows in his direction and he seemed to realise he’d spoken aloud. “No offence Granger but you’re not exactly my type.”

“I wasn’t aware you had a  _ type _ Draco,” Narcissa muttered, lifting her cup from its saucer. Draco rolled his eyes.

“You don’t know everything about me, Mother.”

“Clearly.”

“So,” Tom said, in a clear effort to bring the conversation back to point. “Hermione and Draco will ‘court’ whilst we work together to bring Harry and Astoria down. Anyone have any suggestions about how to do that?”

Hermione sighed and reached towards her own tea. “I might have a few.”

* * *

“You don’t want me to marry Draco,” were the first words out of Hermione’s mouth when Tom led her into the gardens of Malfoy Manor at Narcissa’s request.

 

_ “ I just need a few moments alone with my son,” Narcissa said politely, though she was glaring at Draco, who resolutely refused to meet her gaze. _

_ Tom nodded and stood from his seat, sweeping Hermione up from where she was perched too and barely giving her a chance to protest. _

 

Tom’s lips twitched and he gathered her arm so that it was rested in the crook of his elbow as he led them around the gardens. “And you know that how?”

Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes. “We’re alone now Tom. You don’t have to pretend anymore. Narcissa isn’t here to see your  _ act.” _

“That’s rich coming from you.”

Hermione let her arm drop from his and stopped walking. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” She spat.

Tom laughed, though it was a cruel sound, and turned back to look at her. “Oh,” he tilted his head and glared at her. “Only that out of the pair of us, you’re the one who spends most of her time acting.”

“I don’t know wh-”

“Please don’t insult my intelligence Hermione. I’m not stupid. Did you think I didn’t know what you were doing all those times you came to me in the dead of night? Did you think I didn’t realise you were using me?”

“I wasn-”

“You were. Maybe not for political reasons but you did use me Hermione. You escaped into me, and I was as desperate, so happy to have just a tiny bit of your attention that I let you. I let you use me. Let you act like you were in love with Potter,” he spat the name of her former fiance, “let you act like you hadn’t spent the previous night writhing beneath me crying out  **my** name, begging  **me** to take you away from him. You were the actor. Not me.”

Hermione shot him a seething glare and resisted the urge to cross the space between them, slap him then pull his mouth down to meet hers.

“And when you and Harry betrayed me I knew it was a self-preservation thing. I understood why. Now I know how much of a hand you had in that I understand even more, and I won’t even pretend to tell you that when I heard what he had done, cast you aside for Greengrass, for a second I was thrilled that he’d treated you so callously. But then I remembered that the girl I knew had been overwhelmed by Harry and his presence and constant, constant,” his eyes softened a fraction and Hermione swore there was a fond smile tugging at his lips, “attention and how when she came to me she was just her. So please don’t say I’m an actor Hermione.”

“Tom,” she began, taking a step towards him only to halt when she heard Malfoy’s unmistakable drawl.

“Granger?” He called, from somewhere behind them.

“He needs a bell,” she murmured toTom who laughed and took her arm again. 

“I quite agree. But let’s go find him and put his mind at ease. He’s probably concerned about catching us in the  _ act,”  _ Tom drew the word out teasingly and Hermione rolled her eyes at him, “again, and in his beloved Mother’s garden no less.”

Hermione rolled her eyes when Tom led them round a corner and they came face to face with a panicked Draco. “Thank God,” he muttered. Hermione glared at him and lifted her chin defiantly.

“You sound surprised Draco.”

“Yes well,” Draco pouted, “the last time I interrupted you both you had your knickers swept to the side and Tom here was about to fu-”

“Malfoy.” Tom warned and Draco blinked and looked back at Hermione who was staring at him with wide eyes.

“God. Lady Granger I apologi-”

“It’s fine,” she said quickly, disentangling her arm from Tom’s and quickly moving back towards the house. “I assume your mother would like us to rejoin her?”

Draco nodded fervently and glanced between her and Tom before he stepped forward and offered Hermione his arm.

Hermione stared at him for a moment but relented with a heavy sigh of exasperation when his lips tugged up into a tentative smile. 

“Not a word,” she muttered. Draco simply squeezed her arm and grinned down at her.

* * *

Narcissa was waiting for them exactly where they’d left her. Though the tea had been replaced with something stronger and Hermione could see that the woman was shaking slightly. She looked back to see Tom and Draco in conversation a few feet behind her and quickly crossed the room to kneel before Lady Malfoy.

“Narcissa,” she began gently, wrapping her fingers around the older woman’s wrist in a move she didn’t hope was too forward. “I’m sorry.”

Narcissa exhaled a breath, gave her a tentative smile and lay her free hand against Hermione’s cheek. Hermione instinctively leaned into her touch. It had been so long since someone had mothered her - her Aunt Minerva wasn’t exactly the maternal type - and Hermione had missed both her own mother and Lily Potter for a long time.

“Please don’t apologise my sweet girl,” she said. “You are completely right in knowing what you want and going after it.  I admire you for it, even if I am disappointed that you won’t one day be marrying into my family.” Hermione nodded and smiled gently up at her. When Tom and Draco re-entered the room though Hermione noticed the gleam in her eyes and when she patted Hermione’s cheek and bid her to stand again, she knew Narcissa still had a plan up her sleeve.

“That’s not to say that just because you have aspirations that you should not marry at all.” She turned her head towards Tom and Hermione sat back down in her own spot. “The two of you will make a formidable team. Draco tells me that he’s often caught you at one another’s throats,” Hermione flicked a glare in his direction, “and whilst any marriage is always a little bit more exciting with angry make up sex, you’ll need to reign in that behaviour in public.”

Hermione stared agape at her. “You can’t - you can’t mean to say you wish for me to marry Tom?” Hermione whispered, her heart racing. She did not dare look at him. She didn’t want to see the horror-struck look on his face that surely was a reflection of hers.

Narcissa blinked. “Why ever not? The pair of you want to rule this country. Neither one of you would be treated seriously alone, without a husband,” she nodded her head at Hermione, “or wife,” She turned her head in Tom’s direction beside her, “at your side to guide you. Lord Riddle would be just as much your trophy Lady Granger,” she grinned lasciviously and Hermione finally turned to look at Tom, to quietly beg him to intervene, to stop this madness. But when she did it was to find him already staring at her with those mercurial eyes of his that had stared into her very soul on so many previous occasions.

She snapped her eyes away and tried to meet Draco’s instead, but his head was bent close to Narcissa’s and they were quietly speaking to one another. Narcissa nodded and Draco stood from his seat, pulling his mother up by the hand. “We’ll give you a few moments to discuss it but Lady Granger, Hermione,” she beseeched and Hermione let her take her hands in what she was sure was supposed to be a comforting gesture, “please consider this. Your parents would be very proud of the young woman you have grown into but they would undoubtedly be thrilled if you took the misfortunes you’d had thrust upon you and made those responsible for them suffer.”

Hermione swallowed and dipped her head and then they were gone and she was alone with Tom.  _ Again _ .

“You don’t want me to marry Draco,” she said again. Quieter this time and without meeting the gaze she could feel burning into the back of her neck, a blush creeping up over her skin.

“No,” Tom replied just as quietly. “I don’t.”

Hermione made a sound in the back of her throat. “But you want me to marry you?”

She still couldn’t look at him, but when she felt his fingers slide between hers she did. “Hermione,” he murmured, and keeping a hold of her hand, he slid off the chaise and knelt in front of her. “I told you a long time ago-”

“We were children.”

“It was a little over a year ago,” Tom corrected, smirking up at her even as she felt tears begin to slip down her cheeks and a fond smile tugged at her lips.

“I never said I was sorry,” Hermione said.

He sighed and stood, pulling her into his arms in the process. “Yes well,” he began hesitantly, “neither did I.” She sniffed into his shirt and lifted her head to look at him. He cupped one cheek in his hand and trailed his thumb over her lips.

“This is a bad idea,” Hermione murmured, even as she let her tongue flick against the pad of his thumb.

“Which bit?”

“All of it.”

Tom hummed and let his thumb fall from her lips, before he took a step back and cleared his throat.  “You want this as much as I do.” Hermione wanted to ask if he was referring to the throne or to them. “We deserve this.”

“Maybe, but Tom,” she said carefully, flicking her eyes in the direction of the doors and lowering her voice. “This is treason.”

Tom looked up from fixing the cuffs of his shirt and stared cooly at her. “I thought you wanted his head on a platter?”

“I do,” she huffed, “but Narcissa-”

“Clearly has her own motives? She will continue to whisper into Draco’s ear about how with him on the throne the Malfoys will overthrow even the Blacks, won’t she? That with you on his arm that they’d be unstoppable?” Tom asked quietly, rhetorically. Hermione swallowed thickly and could only jerk her head in response. He gave her a sly smile and continued. “Don’t worry about that. Draco would never-”

“Don’t,” Hermione said abruptly. “Don’t say that.”

“-betray me,” Tom finished. At her exasperated look he laughed. “What?”

“Harry said that about you.” He nodded and she steeled herself for what she was about to say, about to imply. “And then he betrayed me.”

 


End file.
